


Blondie & Tattoo Girl

by Bitch_In_The_Blue



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Awkwardness, Broadway References, Canon Divergence, Cheating, Comedy, Coming Out, Coping, Crushes, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, First Meetings, Friendship, Illegitimacy, Introvert trying to be extrovert, Male-Female Friendship, Romantic Comedy, Social Anxiety, Underage Drinking, art student protag, hank as enrico matassa, new friend, post- The Forecast Manufacturer, tattoo artist - Freeform, tattooing, time jumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-07-24 22:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16184621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitch_In_The_Blue/pseuds/Bitch_In_The_Blue
Summary: Even if he was delirious from head trauma, the memory of walking in on his girlfriend and his brother would leave a lasting mark on Hank. Time alone leads him to exploring town- and making a new friend to fill the void.





	1. Melted Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written a Venture Bros. fic in a looooong ass time.  
> But ultimately: I love the show, love the characters, love the plot twists
> 
> Did NOT love the love triangle in The Forecast Manufacturer, so of course- I felt the urge to do something nice for Hank.

Five stitches.  
He counted them each time he stood in front of a mirror to examine the healing wound.  
The only decent thing that came out of all this was Dean taking him to a hospital and confirming that he hadn't gotten brain damage from hitting his head.  
He and Sirena mentioned a bear, though. He didn't remember much of that. Or what led up to finding them in Dean's room.  
Just finding them. Together. In his brother's bed.  
Hank sighed wistfully and turned away from the mirror, letting his hair fall over the stitches.  
This sucked.  
Everything about it sucked.  
And what could he do about it now that it was done?  
  
For starters, he didn't want to see either of them.  
Now that the freak blizzard was over, the snow had melted away and he was free to take a walk without having to wade through knee-deep powder.  
Being out meant nobody would ask him about his girlfriend.  
Nobody would assume he had a brother who betrayed him.  
Nobody knew anything. He was just some nineteen year old kid, out on his own.  
His phone went off almost constantly in his pocket. All texts from Sirena, begging for him to answer.  
Each time, he almost did.  
And then shoved his phone back into his jacket when he remembered every message and voicemail he'd sent while she was cheating. She had ignored them all.  
Screw that.  
As much as he wanted to talk to her…  
There was nothing they could say right now to make him feel better.  
“Yo, Blondie,”  
A girl's voice made him look up from the ground. He spotted her, leaned against a section of brick wall in front of a tattoo shop. Smoking a cigarette and looking right at him. She had green hair.  
“Huh?”  
“Your head’s bleeding,” she told him.  
Hank paused and touched the stitches on his forehead, fingers coming away red with fresh blood. “... Crap.”  
The girl exhaled smoke and dropped her cigarette onto the ground to snuff it out with her shoe. Wanna come inside to rinse it off? We're clean as a hospital here.”  
“Uh- yeah, sure,” Hank sighed, following her into the tattoo shop. Met with some angry music. The buzzing of machines at work. The smell of sanitizer. “You work here?” He asked, following her to the back of the shop.  
“Yeah, I just started a few weeks ago,” she replied, “My cousin owns it so it was easy to get a job. You come here a lot? I haven't seen you before.”  
“No, I don't think.... Actually, I might've delivered pizza here once or twice.”  
“Vincenzo’s?” She asked, letting him into the bathroom. “That's the only place we get it from. Good stuff.”  
Hank stood over the sink and let the water run cold. The girl stood by in the doorway. Observing.  
“What happened to you?”  
“I fell during the blizzard,” he lied. He didn't exactly want to explain that he was playing in the snow and jumped headfirst into a pile… Where there was an obvious streetlight sticking out of it.  
“Oof,” Tattoo Girl frowned. Arms crossing. It took him effort not to look at her cleavage in the mirror. “Shouldn't you be in a hospital?”  
“I was,” he got to work on splashing handfuls of water onto his hairline. Watered down blood flowed down his face looking like Koolaid.  
“Let me rephrase- shouldn't you _still_ be in a hospital?”  
Hank shrugged. “They said I was okay. Just keep the stitches clean.”  
“You want something to put over them in case they bleed again?”  
“Yeah, I could use that.”  
  
As he followed her back out to the shop, he held a paper towel to his forehead. It had obscured his vision for the most part so she had to lead him along with a hand on his shoulder.  
She sat him on a leathery table and carefully pulled back the paper towel.  
Her face was weirdly close to his own.  
The thought crossed his mind that she would kiss it better.  
But she was just examining the stitches. And he had to try not to stare down her shirt. Eyes up and away.  
He missed Sirena in that moment. Didn't have to look away from her. Never wanted to.  
“Damn Blondie, you really fell hard, huh?”  
“Yeah,” he muttered, sighing at the memory of Sirena Ong’s soft lips. “I really did.”  
Tattoo Girl gathered her supplies as he held the paper towel back over his wound. His head ached.  
Next thing he knew, she was putting on the same dressing as the person on the next table over- right on their newly finished ink.  
“Isn’t this for tattoos?” He asked, a little anxious with how close her chest was to his face as she stood over him.  
“It's just a protective covering,” she replied. “It'll absorb the blood and keep it from getting dirty for a while. You should leave it on for a few hours until the bleeding’s definitely stopped.”  
“Do I need to change it?”  
“I think you'll be okay,” Tattoo Girl said, hand under his chin to tilt his head upward and look at him. “Just make sure you don't hit your head again."  
“I think I can do that.”  
“Do you need a lift home?”  
“I'm gonna walk.”  
“You sure you're good? You seem kinda…” She wiggled her hand in the air.  
“I _feel_ kinda,” he made the same motion.  
“Let me give you a lift home,” she said. “We can get something to eat on the way?”  
Hank sighed. He couldn't ignore for much longer that he hadn't eaten much since he left the hospital. Maybe that played a part in how crappy he felt. “Okay.”  
  
Tattoo Girl made good on her promise to stop and grab some food first and foremost. He didn't feel like he could eat until he smelled the melted cheese on his burger. He didn't wanna dirty up her car. He decided to wait until he was upstairs.  
“Holy _shit_ ,” she muttered as they pulled up to the skyscraper. “You live in VenTech Tower?”  
“Yeah,” he tiredly answered, getting out of the car with his food. “Thanks for the ride. And the food. And the bandaid.”  
Tattoo Girl offered a smile. “No problem. Come by the shop sometime, we'll hang out. I'm there all the time.”


	2. In Reference To Groucho Marx

Another text from Sirena. He could even see her standing by her window, silently willing him to check his phone and answer her.  
He pretended not to notice.  
Dean had taken to texting him as well.  
Ignored those too.  
Maybe after taking one more day from this.  
Not so much _angry_ , just…  
Really extra bummed out.  
“You good?”  
He turned his head to see Brock standing by, lit cigarette in hand. Remnants of… What he guessed was Guild henchman blood on his pants- and presumably on the shirt under his jacket.  
He thought about Tattoo Girl when he smelled the smoke. She was nice. Even if she smelled like ash.  
He'd only been home for a few hours.  
“Good enough.”  
“You and your girl work things out?”  
“No,” he scoffed. “I dunno _how_ we can. It wasn't just some random guy… It was _Dean._ My own brother.”  
Brock frowned, unsure of what he could say. “It's a messed up situation.”  
“You can say that again…” He muttered.  
“Where'd you get that black thing on your head?”  
“I started bleeding again and this girl put this on me.”  
“Looks like the soaker pads they put on tattoos.”  
“Yeah, she works in one of those places. She said we could hang out sometime.”  
“Which shop?”  
“I don't remember.”  
“Did she give you her number?”  
“N….No?”  
“Name?”  
“... Damnit!”  
  
Two nights later around the same time, Hank wandered back through town.  
He couldn't even remember _which_ tattoo shop it was.  
He just remembered what was nearby.  
Certain shop windows.  
Certain lights and screens.  
Certain music, smells, sounds.  
And he did not find it.  
  
Day three, he decided to Google tattoo shops.  
And found three that were within walking distance of VenTech Tower.  
Octopussy Tattoo sounded promising!  
And funny!  
  
“What can I do you for, hun?” An older woman at the counter asked. This place was interesting. The walls were black. And the counter had art books on top- the glass display cases underneath showing various colorful piercings for sale.  
“I'm looking for a girl with green hair,” Hank said. “Does she work here?”  
“Green hair?” The woman asked. “Yeah, actually. Patricia. She doesn't have any appointments today, I think she can help you out.”  
“Sweet!” Hank dared to smile, hoping she was as cute in the daylight- his vision had been a little unfocused a few days ago from being in a post-coma state.  
Patricia. That was a nice name.  
“Hey, Patricia!” The woman called, moving toward the beaded curtain to her left. “You got a walk-in!”  
“What do they wanna get!?” A feminine voice called back, stepping out into the light.  
She had green hair, alright. But it was a bright neon green. Like a highlighter. And she had to be in her forties at least- yet still dressed in trendy clothes.  
Tattoo Girl had _dark_ green hair. And couldn't be older than twenty.  
“Oh,” Hank frowned. “Uh- Never mind. Different green hair girl.”  
  
The next shop was Venomous Art Gallery- a little further downtown.  
He didn't remember walking this far… Or in this direction. He would've killed to have his hovercraft back.  
Maybe he should look into getting a car…  
Or a motorcycle. That would be so-  
  
“Nah man, I haven't seen any chicks with green hair. None of those work here,” The heavily pierced guy at Venomous old him.  
“Not even as like… An intern or something?”  
“Dude, tattoo parlors don't _have_ interns... Are you even old enough to be here?”  
“I'm nineteen!” Hank groaned. “C’mon, man, don't you have like- a network or something? Meetups? Conventions? A silent code for somehow knowing everyone in the same business like a secret society?”  
The guy shrugged and twisted the stud going through his nostril. A snake, seemingly from nowhere, slithered up his back and coiled itself loosely around his neck. Hank actually took a step back at the surprising sight of the snake. No wonder the place was called ‘Venomous’.  
“Look man- all I know is girls in this industry are _always_ dyeing their hair different colors,”  
Hank observed, morbidly transfixed on the snake slithering its head through one of his three inch wide gauges. “One week it's green, the next it's purple, then orange, whateverthefuck. You might as well look for hay in a needle stack.”  
“Right…” Hank mindlessly nodded. “Is that, um, _sanitary?_ ”  
The guy looked at him in clear confusion, affectionately stroking the snake’s head as it worked its whole body through his stretched earlobe. “Is _what_ sanitary?”  
  
Last place…  
Black Cat Ink.  
By this point, the sun was down. He'd walked all around the six mile radius of VenTech Tower.  
And still no sign of Tattoo Girl anywhere he looked!  
This was getting weird. He started to believe he had _hallucinated_ her- like the bear.  
It wouldn't surprise him… He dreamed about Star Wars the whole time he was in that coma. Maybe he dreamed up a green haired Princess Leia... Or would he have to have been Han Solo for that to make sense?  
“Heeeey, you came back!” a familiar voice greeted from behind him.  
How had he walked right past the shop? The GPS said it was further down the street! Stupid thing must've been wrong.  
Tattoo Girl stood by in the doorway of Black Cat Ink, zipping up a heavy black coat and pulling the hood over her dark green hair. “You feel any better?”  
“Yeah, I think,” he said. She _was_ pretty in the daylight. He knew he wasn't hallucinating that part. “Thanks again.”  
“No problem,” she smiled, hands in her pockets. “Yoooouuu here for some ink? I'd help you out but I'm on my way out for the day.”  
“Actually no- I came to take your offer to hang out.”  
“Oh-" her green eyes lit up at the statement. “That's great! But today's actually not a good day for me, sorry.”  
Hank frowned. "Oh."  
And she quickly got her phone out of her pocket. “Nonono, I promise I'm not blowing you off! I just- had a family thing tonight. It's my sister's birthday. I’m not old enough to _legally_ drink yet, so I'm the DD. But hey- I'll give you my number if you give me yours. Are you busy tomorrow?”  
Hank passed his phone to her. “Not even a little!”  
Tattoo Girl smirked at the joke and traded her phone for his. They entered in each others’ phone numbers and traded back.  
“ _Hank_ ,” she read her screen. “Never knew one of those before,” sliding her phone back into her thick jacket, she turned and headed down the street. “Thanks for stopping by. I'll text you later, ‘kay?”  
He stared at her, dazed. The more he talked to her, the more he liked her.  
The name ‘ _LYDIA_ ’ stared back at him from his screen.  
“Lydia,” he read aloud, looking up at her back as she headed down the street. “Like the girl in Beetlejuice!?”  
“Like the Groucho Marx song!” She called back over her shoulder. She got into a red car- the one she'd driven him home in, and was on her way.  
Still an enigma.


	3. Girl Friend

**_Six weeks earlier_  
**  
Well, she had to give him _some_ kind of credit. At least they got it in this time.  
She didn't get to get off, but this was at least progress. It lasted maybe… five minutes? A song and a half playing through her laptop on the nightstand.  
Sirena was definitely disappointed, but she wouldn't say it out loud. Guys took it personally when you told them you weren't satisfied. They were sensitive like that.  
“Wow…” Hank breathed as Sirena removed herself from her position on top of him to lay at his side. “Thatwasawesome.”  
“Mmhm,” Sirena idly hummed her agreement. At this point ready to be alone so she could finish the job herself.   
She found herself zoning out a little bit as he went on about how he was improving in bed. Her mind wandered from time to time when he talked. Whether it was about Batman, his cool bodyguard, his dad being a dick, or how much he wanted to spoil her... She found herself just... Tuning out.  
“-thought you hated this kind of music,” Hank said, curiously peering over and looking at the track name.  
Sirena came out of her daze, realizing that her playlist had gone to one of  _Her_ old songs. Something heavy and chaotic and angry.  _She_ always loved that kind of crap.  
“I do hate it,” Sirena replied, slamming the space bar on her laptop to pause the music before getting to work on getting dressed. Hank did the same. Any minute now Rocco would come to ‘check up on her’. “I used to be friends with this chick who was really into it, though. She did my tattoo.”  
The mermaid on her ankle. The only ink she had so far and it was for free. For her seventeenth birthday. Her dad lost his mind over it when he saw it three months later. “I keep meaning to delete her shit but then I just don't.”  
Why hadn’t she yet? It's not like she missed her that much. They were only friends for like… six-ish years.  
And then Lydia got weird on her.  
Sirena often wondered what Lydia had been up to since then... Probably being the same introverted little dork as always.  
  
**Now**  
  
“How long have you lived here?” She asked, leaned against the wall with a cigarette in hand. The tip was burning away, beginning to char where the number 4 was written on the side in red ink.  
“Maybe like six months? Why does your cigarette have a number on it?”  
Lydia shrugged. “I’m working on quitting. It’s my new years resolution. I only have three more left after this. I’m rationing.” Another long drag on the stick and she exhaled smoke, eyes closed and seeming at ease. “I blame this girl I used to be friends with. We were terrible influences on each other.”  
“How come you’re not friends anymore?” Hank asked.  
“She got all weird on me,” Lydia replied, taking one more long drag off of her cigarette before dropping it and snuffing it out with her shoe. “Anyway, I appreciate you coming to see me. I have an appointment in twenty, and I dunno if you wanna stick around to watch me scrape up a guy’s skin.”  
“... Sure!”  
  
"I like your calendar," Hank noted, looking past Lydia to the section of wall over her workbench. Where a pinup style calendar was nailed into the wall.  
"Thanks!" Lydia beamed, leaned over against the leathery seat where her client sat. He was a huge guy- really tall and muscular.  
And yet he still looked like he was going to cry, vomit, faint, or all of the above as the needle scraped his skin. "My sister makes those, I'm always Miss October."  
"You model for calendars?" Hank got up out of his seat and flipped the calendar back to October. Sure enough it was Lydia-- hair dyed black, black lipstick, wearing a low cut dress with a black cat pattern-- and a witch hat. Photoshopped to be sitting on a broom without anything holding her up. One side of her dress was hiked up her thigh- showing  _another_ tattoo, but he couldn't quite make it out.  
"Yup! We make 'em every year for a little extra cash." Lydia replied. "It's kind of a hobby for me to do the whole _vintage_ thing. It's The Three Cs: Calendars, car shows, and... I forgot the last one. I'll remember it later. Probably."  
"You dress like it's the 50's _on purpose?_ My dad wouldn't let me wear different clothes for _years!_ " Hank's phone went off in his hand.  
"Wow, _really_ old fashioned huh?"  
"You should see how he dresses. He looks like a-- like a minivan built in the 70's." Hank's phone went off again.  
Lydia snickered at the imagery. “Your phone’s just, like, blowing up today,” she noted, glancing over at Hank from where she worked. “Talkin’ to a girl, guy, whatever you’re into?”   
Hank hadn’t even realized how many times his phone received texts. All from Sirena. And now on day four of silence, he finally began answering them. “Yeah,” he flatly replied, not looking up from the screen as he wrote back his answer. She just kept apologizing and bargaining to make it up to him. And explaining over and over that she acted out because she didn't like how he didn't give her any space.  
“Don’t sound too jazzed about it,” Lydia replied, giving him a curious glance before turning back to her client and continuing her work. The guy in the seat paled, looking more and more like he was going to cry with every passing second. He even cringed away from her hand when she went to continue. “Sir, I’m gonna need you to sit still. We _both_ don’t want this to get messed up.”  
“Well she _was_ my girlfriend. Not sure if she still is,” Hank said, reading another message as it appeared.  
“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?” Lydia asked.  
“It’s complicated.”  
“Oh. Sorry...” she replied. “You good, though?” He seemed like he was in a good mood yesterday when he came to see her- but today, he seemed more bummed out with each text he got. He was fine half an hour ago.  
“I guess,” Hank shrugged.  
The guy in the chair decided to chime in. “ _Bitches_ , man. You don’t need ‘er.”  
“This is a _private_ conversation, bud.” Lydia told him, needle to his skin again. She would’ve loved to call him names or even stop working on him then and there- but he was paying hundreds for this piece. And watching him try not to cry was the best form of petty revenge, in her opinion.  
"What made you wanna do tattoos?" Hank changed the subject, watching as Lydia's client struggled to hold still in the chair. As if she was torturing him by giving him the face tattoo he was paying her for.  
Lydia shrugged as she worked, pausing frequently to wipe blood and ink away from the guy's skin. "The job runs in the family. My dad and my uncle did tattoos, me and my cousin do. My sister just likes getting 'em. And my brother doesn't have any but he's a really good artist. He designed the one on my arm."  
Hank eyed the leafy vine on her left arm, starting at her shoulder and ending at her forearm. He noticed that her nails were painted the same shade of green as her hair.  
"You ever think about getting any?" She asked. She flipped her hair out of her eyes with a tilt of her neck. Hank noticed that she had multiple piercings in her ears.  
"My dad would probably kick me out for it," Hank replied.  
"Came from a traditional family, huh?"  
"You have no idea!" In truth he didn't want to admit to her that he was from a line of scientists and boy adventurers quite yet.  
Another text from Sirena. He wrote out his answer and sent it off.  
"My mom's side of the family is pretty traditional too," Lydia replied. The guy in the chair looked super miserable. She glanced back to Hank. "Anyway- they hate tattoos and piercings. My mom still does. Even after having been with my dad for years and years."  
"How'd that work out?"  
"It didn't," she shrugged. "They got divorced when I was nine. Lots of differences between them they never got past. Like the mutual cheating… That sucked." Her brother was twenty when that happened, and he claimed Lydia and her sister as dependents so they could move out and live with him. That had been a blessing. At least until their mom got involved. Lydia had been stuck living with her for years before she moved in with Marya and Emilio.  
“Do you at least get to-”  
"You've gotta be kidding me," Lydia groaned, having pulled back the needle just before her client went limp. Unconscious. "I wasn't even on the shader yet."  
"Is… Is he okay?" Hank asked.  
"Yeah, he just fainted! Jeez…” Lydia sighed, tapping the back of her hand on the man’s shoulder to try to bring him around. “Actually... I like this better. Now I can finish it without him twitching and crying like a lil' bitch."  
  
“You sure you don’t want any?” Lydia offered her own cup of coffee, pink lip print on the lid and all.  
“Coffee makes me a little--- edgy,” Hank said, against his wishes. “I built like twenty murphy beds at our old place one time. My dad never found all of ‘em.” He definitely would’ve taken it. But he didn’t want to look crazy in front of his new friend… And if he drank out of the same coffee cup right where her mouth had been, it counted as an indirect kiss.  
Did that count as cheating? Was it even cheating if he wasn’t sure if he was still in a relationship?  
“More for me,” she shrugged, taking back the cup and sipping the hot liquid. Wrapped up in her coat, she decided to get it to help keep her hands warm. “So if you don’t work at Vincenzo’s anymore, where are you working now?”  
“I’m in between jobs,” he replied coolly. A generic ‘I haven’t actually thought about it’ answer.  
“Y’know, thinking back, I think I _have_ seen you before,” she said, walking beside him. On the way back to the tower now that she’d stopped for her caffeine fix. “Maybe like a month ago?”  
“Really?” Hank frowned, hands in his pockets against the chill in the air. “I feel like I’d remember the hair.”  
“Well the color is pretty recent- I change it every two weeks,” she said, running her fingers through her short lime-green waves. “I think I was blonde at the time. Didn’t like the shade much. I feel like they lied when they said blondes have more fun.”  
“Well, _I_ have fun,” he smirked.  
“I hope it’s not ‘cause of that head injury,” she teased.  
“Nope! I’m just one hundred percent: an _interesting_ guy.”  
“Oh, I’m _sure_ you are,” she nudged him. “I bet you’ve got a million stories about how you’ve been to space or something.”  
“Actually, _yes I do!_ ”  
Lydia let slip a rather cute giggle. “Y’know, Hank, you’re alright.”  
“I’m better than ‘alright’,” he nudged her back, smiling wide. “I’m _very_ Hank.”  
They walked quietly for a few seconds after that, and Lydia noted that Hank just seemed to light up when he wasn’t on his phone. She’d only known him for a couple of days, but _this_ seemed to be his genuine self. Not the disoriented, bummed out stranger who wandered into the shop with a bloody face.  
Instead he was kinda goofy. She liked that about him.  
  
She walked him all of the way back to VenTech Tower, going as far as inside of the lobby with him, where Sgt. Hatred stood his watch at the front desk on the far side of the room.  
“It was nice hanging out,” she said. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime.”  
“Me neither,” Hank replied.  
“Maybe tomorrow?”  
“Sure!”  
“Maybe somewhere more-- _not_ where I work?”  
“Yeah, where to?”  
“I dunno-- there’s this weird hipster restaurant I kinda wanna try out. Wanna get lunch or something?”  
“How weird hipster are we talkin’?”  
“Like ‘hot dog served taped onto the side of the bun’ kind of weird.”  
They shared a laugh at the ridiculous imagery. “I'll text you later,” she said, giving him a friendly, affectionate tap on the shoulder as she left the lobby, stealing one last glance over her shoulder to give him a warm smile.  
“See ‘ya!” He said as she made her way outside. “Or- not if you see me first, or...”  
He was rambling. Feeling light as a feather.  
He paid little attention to Sgt. Hatred having wandered over, having noticed the girl and not recognizing her. “Who was _that_ walking MTV advertisement?”  
“Probably the coolest girl my age I ever got to hang out with.”  
“Bet her parents don’t like the hairdo...”  
“She confirmed that they _definitely_ don't."  
  
"Lyds!"  
The green haired girl recognized who had called her right away- the only person on campus who called her by that nickname.  
"Jared!" She beamed, pausing and waiting for him to catch up to her. He'd jogged over to meet her on the quad- steering clear of the soggy grass. "What's goin' on, fam?"  
"I gotta talk to you about something," he replied, hunching over and catching his breath- the cold, dry winter air burned his lungs.  
"Is... Everything okay...?" Lydia asked slowly, peering past him and seeing his roommate walk by- sparing the two a glance before continuing on his way. Presumably back to their dorm room. Dean kept to himself mostly. Lydia had only ever really spoken two words to him before. She doubted he even knew her name. "Did you and Dean get into a fight or something?"  
Jared's face reddened, and he led the way toward the library- motioning for Lydia to follow.  
Jared later came out to Lydia, and she gave him the all of the affirmation she had to offer.  
"So what made you decide to come to _me_ about this?" She asked. "I'm just curious- I just didn't think you liked me that much."  
"You're probably the only person I know who wouldn't make jokes to break the awkward tension," Jared anxiously replied.  
"Instead I can just make jokes about how I used to have a huge crush on you," she replied with an equally anxious grin. What a dumb thing to admit.  
"Seriously? The guy with literally eight eyes?"  
"Whaaaaat?" She laughed, "There's been weirder things! You used to date _Sirena._ And I used to  _somehow_ be friends with her. Now that's some weird shit."  
"Yeah, well... Now my roommate's kinda..." He cringed at the thought, and Lydia got the idea in her head that maybe Jared had feelings for Dean. "Well, he and Sirena are hooking up."  
" _Yikes._ Poor guy has no idea what drama he's gonna be stuck with."  
  
“-know it was a really messed up thing to do,” Dean said. “I… I don’t know if I can say I’m sorry enough times. I'd do anything if I thought I could make it up to you.”  
Hank’s phone went off in his jacket pocket. He listened to Dean’s explanation, not quite understanding the logic behind the events, but…  
Maybe there were just some things he wouldn’t ever really get. Sometimes being chased around by guys in butterfly costumes made more sense than social situations. And this was one of those situations…  
Dean had admitted to wishing things would go back to the way they used to be. “It was all so-- simple.”  
“It was,” Hank agreed. “But y’know like-- we’re grownups now.”  
Dean didn’t quite understand. “O...Kay...”  
“If it always stayed simple, we’d still be just-- _The Venture Brothers._ But we’re not anymore. We’re just Hank and Dean. And yeah, I miss the good old days at the compound when it was just us, Pop, and Brock; but--- it’s pretty cool to just be my own man. Screw going back! Think of the freedom! Think of the possibilities!”  
“... You’re taking this a little too well, Hank.”  
“It might be the head injury talking,” Hank agreed, lifting his hair where it laid over his stitches. “But-- I love you, Deano. Even if we aren’t boy adventurers anymore, we’re still brothers.”  
Dean turned his head away, admittedly having become a little emotional over how Hank phrased that exact sentence.  
“What you did was definitely fucked up, though.”  
“I know,” Dean agreed. “Where does it leave you and Sirena? Are you even talking to her?”  
Hank's phone went off again. He decided to take a look at it- seeing two texts from Lydia. “Kinda?”  
One message was asking if his day was going well, and the other was a picture of a sketchbook containing a drawing identical to the tattoo on her arm. She said her brother had designed it.  
“That her?” Dean asked. From here on, he would avoid Sirena if it meant giving his brother peace of mind.  
“Actually no,” Hank replied after reading her messages and sending his responses. “It's my new friend _Lydia_.”  
“Lydia?” Dean asked. That was familiar. Somehow.  Did he have a class with a Lydia?  
The closest L-named girl he knew was that girl Jared sometimes hung out with. The one with the colorful hair-- he thought maybe her name was Lila?  
Furthermore, what was the context? Was he already moving on? “I take it you and Sirena are over?”  
“Actually…”  
“You're kidding,” Dean deadpanned. “You're talking to-- whoever _Lydia_ is as a backup?”  
“Dude, no-- She's cute and all but not my type. I like 'em _thicc_. With Cs.”  
Ugh. “Does _she_ know that?”  
“... No.”  
“ _Dude_.”  
“What!?” Hank groaned. “I’m not gonna _do_ anything with her, it’s just nice having a girl friend. Not girlfriend, girl _friend._ It's not gonna end up like you and Sirena.”  
Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're right. Sorry. Not everything ends up like... I thought you forgave me!"  
"Never said I was over it," Hank huffed.  
"That's fair."  
All of everything going on over the last week was just… weird.  
And speaking of weird-  
“Did Dad tell you about The Monarch yet?”  
Hank frowned. “What, did he die?”  
“No, he's our uncle.”  
_“WAIT WHAT.”_  
  
“Who you talkin’ to?”  
Lydia glanced up from her phone, having been sitting near her sister at the kitchen table while the timer on her phone ticked on. “Remember that guy I told you about with the head injury? We’re friends now.”  
The dye would stay in for half an hour. A vibrant shade of fluorescent orange- Marya had insisted on it.  
“ _Really?_ ” Marya smirked. “Figures you’d befriend somebody with some screws loose.”  
“ _Right?_ ” Lydia agreed. “But I don't think he's got ‘screws loose’. He's nice. Just… Kinda weird.”  
“How weird?”  
Lydia shrugged, paying no mind to their brother grabbing a bottle of wine out of the cabinet and pouring himself a very full glass. “Weird like- probably spends his weekends at ComicCon. Like a fun, nerdy, harmless kinda weird.”  
“So like, your type?” Emilio asked, joining his younger siblings at the table and getting his phone out as well. “Figures you'd find yourself a nice little nerd.”  
“I don't wanna hear it, Em,” Lydia smirked. “Especially not after your crush on Rocco.”  
Emilio's face flushed. Even now that he was thirty, he was as withdrawn as a teenager. “What? He was hot.”  
“Yeah because henchmen dressed up as literal parasites are _soooooooo_ hot!” Marya teased.  
“Oh what _ever!_ ” Emilio groaned. “You think that’s ridiculous? I saw two grown ass men dressed like butterflies at a McDonalds today!”


	4. Connecting The Dots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this took long as fuck

**_Last summer_** ** _  
_****_  
_**“Ow! Jesus! Is it _supposed_  to hurt that fucking much!?”   
“Uh, yeah, it’s a  _tattoo_ , dingus,” Lydia replied, tongue flicking over the two rings in her bottom lip. “It’s _stick and poke_ , it’s not gonna feel like butterfly kisses. Now hold still.” ** _  
_**Sirena groaned and tightly clutched the carpeting under her. Teeth gritted against the pain of the needle on her skin. Cigarette pinched between her teeth. Lydia had done her best to make a clean work space on her bedroom floor. Using clean towels and plastic wrap as a surface. And at least this was only a fine outline. No coloring in. Lydia had been practicing this for some time- having been using her sister’s arms as a canvas. She’d gotten good at tattooing, and was always good at drawing- to the point where she was freehanding the mermaid on Sirena’s ankle. Too bad she only had fucking _blue_  ink on hand.  
“You said you wanted her to be holding something, right?” Lydia asked, working diligently with a steady hand. For being an anxious little geek, she had steady hands. Artist trick, Sirena assumed. “I’m saving that part for last. In case you haven’t decided.”  
“A heart. On fire.” Sirena said.  
“Edgy, why?” ** _  
_**“Um- why not?”  
Lydia and Sirena exchanged a brief smile. Terrible influences on each other.  
The worst part of it all had nothing to even do with any of that.   
The _worst_ part was that Lydia had once had a dream about Sirena being  _more_  than just a friend, and it blossomed into a full on crush within a few weeks. And now, months later, Lydia had wondered if… Maybe she should come out to someone. To admit that she liked guys _and_ girls. Maybe to see if this was  _really_  legit, or just a passing fancy. Dreams weren’t  _really_  indicative of repressed desires, right? They were just random, uncontrolled visuals...  
Lydia felt the tightness in her chest she’d associated with Sirena. Whether it was because she liked her, or because she knew she never stood a chance. Nonetheless… She put on a smile, and kept working. “Burning heart it is.”  
  
**_Now_** ** _  
_**  
“It was like-- I was  _suffocating_ ,” Sirena said, eyes downcast. It was so difficult to talk about this with him. Especially right in public. They’d gone to Vincenzo’s because it was a good, familiar place for him.   
She’d only ever known Hank as a happy go lucky, non-serious person. Everything had always been so simple and easy.   
So an in-depth conversation about their failed relationship with him may as well have been the same as jamming a grill fork into her gills. The way he looked at her just… hurt. It hurt so much. She felt so terrible. “This isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I just-- it was like I couldn’t be alone without you sending me texts  _so fuckin’ fast_  that I got ten more of ‘em before I could answer  _one._  It felt like...” _Oh, no, don’t say it._  
“Like what?” Hank mumbled, seeming to try to shrink in on himself. He looked like he was hiding in the collar of his Steve McQueen jacket.  
Sirena sighed, leaning back in her seat. Having to say it after all. “It felt like I may as well have been dating my  _dad._ ”  
Hank winced. “Dude,  _Gross_.”  
Then again, it made sense now. On their very first date, she dug out a tracker from her forearm with a switchblade just to be alone together. He had to sneak in just to see her. There were no other ways to see each other… And when they weren’t together, he spammed her with messages.  
“But you see what I mean, right?” She asked. “It’s not your fault. I wanna make that clear- but… I just didn’t know what to do. So I just stopped thinking, and things got out of hand… Can you ever forgive me?”  
“I forgave  _Dean,_ ”  
“That’s good,” she said. “I’m glad...”  
Hank sighed. “I guess… I can forgive _you_ too.”  
“This soon?”  
“I mean… I  _love_  you. And it’s bad to just  _stay_  mad about something, right...?” He looked like a kicked puppy. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? To make things work?”  
Somehow that just made it hurt so much more than before.  
“I was thinking: maybe we should take some time apart,” Sirena said, hurrying to clarify when she saw Hank’s expression drop further than it had already been. “Not that I don’t love you too! I just think that because  _this_  happened, we should… Evaluate.”  
“ _Evaluate?_ ” He tilted his head at the suggestion. He was so cute.  
“Yeah, like...” Sirena shifted in her seat. “We take a break. I don’t wanna see other people, but I think...” This part hurt to say. “ _You_  should try talking to other people. Because-”  
_Because I hurt you and you can talk to other people who haven’t._ __  
_Because I’m an idiot and feel bad for making you feel like you_ _have_ _to forgive me._ __  
_Because I just want to be single and not leave you high and dry._  
“- I think it’ll be good for you,” she said.   
  
“ _Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii_ , Lyds,” Marya greeted, approaching her younger sister’s section of the shop. Bright orange hair freshly trimmed into a neat pixie cut.  
“ _Hiiiiiiiiii, Mar._ ” Lydia looked up from where she was organizing her workspace, Hank behind her setting various items onto the leathery table so she could wipe down the inside of her cabinets.   
He thought it was weird that she kept so much plastic wrap. But he was distracted from the thought when he looked over at who had approached the cubicle-like section of the shop.   
“I just wanted to stop by and ask you if you thought of what you wanted to do next Saturday. I just got the OK to have off that day.” She was tall and a little heavy set, with short bright orange hair and tattoos starting from her neck and disappearing under her jacket. It didn’t take a genius to tell that the two were family. But it was hard to determine the exact relation- because Lydia had much lighter skin and eyes.  
The sister eyed Hank as well, smile forming on her face. “ _You_  must be  _Haaaaaank_ ,” she said, looking between him and Lydia.  
“So--!” Lydia interrupted her sister, setting a hand on the taller woman’s shoulder and leading her away. Hank couldn’t really make out what they were talking about from then on.  
She talked about him to her family?  
“Jared knows some people around Broadway who work in sales,” Lydia said. “I thought I’d ask him to set me up for three tickets to Sweeney Todd or Oklahoma or something.  
“A musical?” Marya groaned, shifting her weight onto one hip. “Come on, you can do better than that. We do that like every other  _month._  Stop being an art student for ten seconds and think of something  _fun._ ” Marya glanced over at Hank, who she noticed was looking at them. “He is  _cute_  by the way, does he have an older brother or, like, a hot dad?"  
“Dude,  _shut up_ …” Lydia blushed, anxiously playing with a strand of her hair. “Anyway… It’s not like I’ll be old enough to drink.  _Still,_ ” Lydia shrugged, lips forming a tight line.  
Marya always thought it was funny when she did that. The faded scars from her old snakebite piercings looked like a couple of dimples under her lip when she did.  
“I mean...” Marya began. “Me and Em can get you some stuff to have at home after the show.”  
“... Can I choose?”  
“Um-  _duh_. Just nothing gross. And no mixing different drinks.” Marya snickered. “Remember Em’s thirtieth?”  
“ _Ugh_. ‘Remember’? I can’t get it out of my head sometimes,” Lydia groaned. Their brother had been so put off by turning thirty that he drank anything he could get his hands on. Rum, vodka, jagermeister, chocolate milk- he puked  _everywhere._  And was hung over for a whole two days.  
Hank watched the two laugh about something, before they hugged and parted ways. The older sister shot him the finger guns and a wink on the way out. As well as singing “ _Byyyeeeee Haaaaaaaank!_ ” before she walked out the door.  
The other people- customers and artists alike- looked at Lydia as the door fell shut, and the green of her hair contrasted sharply with the redness on her face.  
“Was that your sister?” He smirked, ready to tease her about how easy she became embarrassed.  
“Yeah,” Lydia sighed, grabbing a bottle of water out of the mini fridge she kept at her station and drinking half of it to cool her face down. “She came to make birthday plans.”  
Hank had noticed the fridge a couple of weeks ago, and noted that it was always stocked full of water, energy drinks, and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Always a different flavor. They always shared now. “I thought your sister just had a birthday.”  
Lydia had talked about Marya and Emilio a few times over the last two weeks. Just as Hank had mentioned his brother. But not much about him. In truth, it was because Hank was now paranoid that Dean would just want  _every_  girl he liked first.   
“She did,” Lydia nodded, passing him the rest of the water. “This is because it’s gonna be  _my_  birthday. I’m turning twenty.”  
“ _Twenty?_ ” Hank gaped as he took the bottle. “I thought you were eighteen.”  
She also seemed to have no problem sharing cups, straws, and bottles with him. And since Sirena had said they were on a break… He didn’t see the problem with an indirect kiss anymore.  
“What, you gonna trade me in for a newer model ‘cause I’m older than you thought?” She teased, finishing wiping down the shelves in her cabinet and getting to work on re-organizing the contents. Ink, sterilization supplies, various small parts to her machine, stuff to make stencils…   
Hank had actually been debating letting her tattoo him over the last few days. Rusty would  _flip_. It would be hilarious. “What, trade in the most  _normal_  person I know?” Hank scoffed and took a sip out of the water bottle. Her lip print on the side tasted like cherries. And not that gross medicinal cherry Chapstick taste like he’d expected- more like cherry pie. The more they hung out, the more she surprised him. “ _Yeah_   _right_.”  
“Awww, you think I’m  _normal!_ ” She grinned at him over her shoulder, motioning for him to pass things to her so she could place them on the shelves. He passed her a box of little ‘plasticky doodads’, as he called them once. (They were ink cups). “You must see some weird stuff if you think a nervous wreck like  _me_  is normal... ” She snickered. “I always make fun of myself like that, sorry. I realize it's a bummer. I blame whoever my real dad is. Dude must’ve been a complete trainwreck.”  
“You don’t know your dad?” Hank frowned.  
“Well- kinda,” she set the last bottle of ink on the shelf and turned back to him. “You saw Marya, her skin’s darker than mine. I have a different dad from her and Emilio. Nobody knows who. My mom won’t talk about it. We just know it's a white guy because I'm light and naturally blonde.”   
“L, your next appointment is here!” Brian, the guy with the forwardmost station called.  
“Send ‘em over!” Lydia called back, getting to work on sterilizing her area. “Sorry Hank, I forgot I had a guy coming  _right now_. Do you wanna stick around, or…?”  
Hank checked his communicator watch, seeing that it was still early in the afternoon. The Monarch was still over. He thought of maybe… Dropping by the SU campus to talk to Sirena again. “I’m gonna hit the ol’ dusty trail.” He turned, immediately bumping into Lydia’s next client because he wasn’t looking. “Sorry-- Wait,  _Gary?_ ”   
The Monarch’s only henchman looked back in mutual surprise. “Dude! What are _you_ doing in a _tattoo parlor?_ Are you getting ink too!?”  
Hank gave him a suspicious look. “This… Isn’t an arching, is it…?”  
“You guys know each other?” Lydia asked, finishing setting up her table.  
“ _You_ guys know each other?” Hank and Gary asked simultaneously, pointing toward each other and looking to Lydia for answers.  
Lydia mimicked the two of them and pointed to Gary. “I’m his artist.” She crossed her opposite arm over to point at Hank. “And I’m his friend. Small world, right?”  
  
The following morning, Lydia had met up with Jared again at the student cafe on campus. The quiet, calm atmosphere made for a regular hangout spot for Lydia and Jared. They always met up after their morning classes had concluded, before Lydia went back to Black Cat to work.   
“So… Dean Venture, huh?” She asked, legs crossing under the table. Just as before- at the library.  
Jared visibly reddened, head in his hands. “Yeah. Dean Venture.”  
He’d finally admitted attraction toward his roommate. Not that Lydia didn’t already know with how often he talked about Dean. The kid must’ve had the classic Jonas Venture charm or something.  
“Is _he_ gay?”  
“I really don’t think so,” he replied. “Considering a few weeks ago he had me vacate the room for an entire day so he and Sirena could be alone.”  
“Oof,” Lydia couldn’t offer much encouragement. “Yeah, you mentioned that before… What’s the deal with that, anyway? They’re so _different_. I always thought Dean was, like, asexual… I’ve literally never seen him show interest in anyone.”  
“You’re never even around him!”  
“He’s a rich legacy boy going out with Sirena Ong, he doesn’t sound like somebody I’d have in _my_  lower-middle-class circle. So what’s there to miss out on?”  
“Well-” Jared shrugged.  
Lydia looked up from her latte, sensing juicy gossip. “You better tell me. You wouldn’t say ‘well’ if it was important to keep it a secret. You know how it works.”  
“Ugh, fine-” Jared sighed. “But this stays between me and you.”  
“Of course.”  
“Sirena and Dean aren’t dating. Sirena cheated on Dean’s brother, Hank, with him.”  
A bell rang in Lydia’s head, and she inadvertently stared at Jared with wide eyes. “Hank… _Venture?_ That’s right, right? I’m not just guessing?”  
“Uh… Yeah?”  
Hank had been so bummed out the first few days they’d known each other. Constantly checking texts from _Sirena_. “... _Oh_.” That really explained a lot. He lived in VenTech Tower, how did it take her this long to figure it out?  
“‘Oh’ what?” Jared asked, clearly confused.  
“I just connected some dots.” She nodded the affirmation to herself. “And I may or may not be talking to Hank lately.”  
He looked disappointed in her.  
“Is it _that bad?_ ” She asked, voice unnecessarily high pitched. “It’s not my drama, I’m not gonna get _into it_ -into it. Just… He’s really nice… And cute n’ stuff. I wanna be friends with him.”  
“Do you wanna be on _her_ bad side?”  
“Me and Sirena already hate each other,” Lydia shrugged. “How much worse can it possibly get?”  
“Why __do you and Sirena hate each other?” Jared frowned. “You never told me.”  
“It’s complicated.”


	5. Complicated

**_Last summer  
  
_ ** ****"So… What, are you telling me all this because you _like_ me?"  
"It's just something I needed to say to someone so I could feel better. I kinda figured it out a while ago and it was killing me to hold it in... It feels good to say." Lydia's knee bounced with nervous energy under the table. They'd gone out for brunch that afternoon, and Lydia decided that this one-on-one time was the right time to come out.  
Sirena's reaction wasn't one she'd hoped for. She mostly seemed unsettled by the admission.  
"I hope this doesn't mean we're just friends 'cause you wanna go out with me."  
"Nooooo," Lydia blushed. "I started talking to this girl who goes to the same plays on campus as me. Her name's Mandy."  
Mandy Nguyen with her undercut and cute dimple in her chin when she smiled. Sometimes she curled her hair and dressed all cute and feminine, sometimes she left it natural, threw on some aviators and a leather jacket and looked _stupid_ hot .   
Lydia’s crush on Sirena had ended weeks ago. Something about the thought of actually _dating_ her seemed impossible. They were two different types of people, so she had little choice but to move on.  
"I'm gonna try to ask her out," Lydia added. “Kinda hoping it’ll be something.”  
Sirena now couldn't shake the feeling that their friendship was rooted in Lydia wanting to get in her bed. Just like with boys she'd met, the motivation to be nice came from _wanting_ something from her. Nothing was for free. Ever. So was all of their friendship a charade? "Good luck with that."  
  
**_Now  
  
_ ** “How complicated?” Jared asked, trying to break Lydia out of her daze. She’d gone quiet for a few seconds as she thought back on the matter.   
The green haired girl sighed. “I guess _you’d_ understand the horror more than anyone else… She outed me to my family.”   
“She _outed you?_ ”   
“Yeah, and I know it was an accident and all, but the fact that I told her in confidence that I was bi and-- and she just--”   
“She didn’t know it was a secret.”   
“Yeah. That sums it up.” Lydia wished she had more cigarettes. She’d picked up smoking last fall after the whole ordeal. Her brother and sister were the only ones accepting of it- because neither of them were straight. But the family at least didn’t know about _their_ identities. No one had snitched on them. Lydia had been exposed so suddenly, and all eyes were on her and Mandy Nguyen, who she’d secretly dated for two months by then. The drama ended their relationship. And Lydia picked up smoking to cope with how shitty life had become at home until she moved in with Emilio and Marya at the end of last year.   
“How come you never mentioned any of this before?” Jared asked, a look of sympathy furrowing his brows. “I didn’t even know you were _bi._ ”   
“I didn’t know we were that good of friends until you came out to me,” Lydia shrugged, sinking in her chair and staring at her plastic coffee cup. “I thought you didn’t even _like_ me that much.”   
“What made you think that?”   
_Her anxiety disorder_ . “I dunno… It’s pretty rare that I actually _believe_ somebody likes me and _wants_ to hang out with me.” Hank, for instance. She didn’t even have to ask him to hang out, he just showed up every day and it was great.   
Even before the drama started with her family, Sirena had become distant and seemed to be avoiding Lydia. It left a lasting impression that it was hard to be friends with her, and she didn’t even know why.   
Jared at least understood. He'd known plenty of people who could relate. And he knew that the best thing to offer was reassurance. "Well, we're friends," he said. "It's decided."  
She smiled at the sentiment. "I guess it is."  
  
“So… I heard a rumor you used to go out with Sirena Ong."  
The question made Hank’s stomach drop. Who told her that? "Yeah. You know her?"  
"We used to be friends. Emphasis on _used to be,_ " Lydia answered, leaned back against the same spot of brick wall in front of Black Cat, her second to last cigarette in hand. She had been smoking it slowly over the last two days. Little by little, making it last.  
"How'd you hear about it if you don't talk to her?"  
She shrugged. "I know a guy who knows her _and_ your brother… When were you gonna tell me you’re a Venture kid?”  
They'd known each other for three weeks now and he seemed to avoid getting into specifics about his family the whole time.   
“I wasn’t gonna tell you.”  
“Why, though? If I was filthy rich and related to a celebrity, I’d be telling _eeeeeeeeverybody_ to see what I could get for free around town… I already do it with my student discount.” She took another short drag off of the cigarette. "It's not the kind of thing you can't hide forever unless you see this as a short-term friendship."   
“Nah, it's not like that… It’s kinda dumb,” he admitted. “But I didn’t really wanna _be_ Hank Venture. I just wanted to be Just Hank to you..”  
“You _are_ Hank to me,” she assured. “Doesn’t change anything, I’m not gonna start making you pay for stuff just ‘cause you got money… Except now I feel bad that my idea of fun stuff to do is dirt cheap. You’re probably used to _waaaay_ better things... Like the opera or the stock market. Which both sound incredibly _boring_ to a lower middle class loser like me.”  
“Noooope, the cheap stuff is fun for me too!” Hank beamed.   
“Solid,” Lydia grinned, taking one last savoring drag from her cigarette and snuffing out the tip against the brick wall at her back to preserve the rest. She dropped the remaining half into the inner, zippered pocket in her coat.  
“You said your birthday was Saturday right?” It was Thursday. He assumed she had plans the day of.   
“I don’t wanna make a big deal out of it,” Lydia deflected. “Not until I'm 21 anyway. Then I’m gonna get lit like a frickin’ _lantern_.”  
“Doesn’t _have_ to be a big deal,” Hank shrugged. "You can pick what we do."  
It took a long moment to think of what she might want company for. And then it clicked. "Well there's gonna be an exhibition on campus. On Sunday. Some of my best paintings are gonna be part of it… You wanna come?"  
"A… an art show?"  
She shrugged, face reddened. "I'm an _art major._ And this show is important to me, and I'm nervous because it's my first time being featured, and I get really anxious in these situations. I could use some backup. It'd really help."  
He wasn't exactly the art exhibition type. That sounded a little boring. But it was important to Lydia and it was for her birthday. He could suck it up for a while. "I'm there."  
"Thank you!" She looked so relieved. "It's gonna be building F on the first and second floors. Semi-formal attire."  
"Semi- formal?" He winced. "I gotta dress up?"  
"If it makes you feel better, I do too. I'm not the dressing up type except for my hobby." Art shows didn't fall under her Three C's rule. Calendars, car shows, and contests… Oh right, she'd forgotten that last one before.  
  
Saturday came and went and Lydia's birthday was fun. She and her siblings had gone to see a performance of Little Shop of Horrors before going home and drinking themselves into a thirteen hour coma.  
On Sunday, Lydia still felt hung over as she was moving her paintings to building F on campus.  
"Why did I have to take that last drink?" She muttered under her breath, head pounding as a reminder to drink water. She had a bottle waiting for her in the gallery room. But she had to walk all the way from building C with her canvases under her arms to get to it. "I screwed myself. Just completely screwed myself." Now she was gonna be anxious _and_ nauseous during the exhibition. How was she gonna get through this?  
As Lydia strode on, lost in strategizing how to get through the four hour event later that evening, one of her canvases slipped out of her grip and clattered onto the freshly salted sidewalk.  
"Come on!" She whined, pausing to pick up the painting before the rock salt could damage the coloring. She tried to slip it back under her arm with the others but it only made the other three canvases slip out of her arm and drop as well. " _Damnit!"  
_ As she bent to gather the paintings, she paused when she spotted someone helping her pick them up.  
"Thanks," she said, glancing up to see Dean Venture helping her. "Oh, hey. I know you."  
"Yeah, you're Jared's friend, right?" He asked. "I'll help you move these."  
"Thank you so much, I'm going toward F and I have more to grab from C after this." She carried the two she had in hand and Dean managed the rest. "I would be moving these with my car but it's quicker to cut _through_ campus."  
"You're doing the art show tonight?" He asked.  
"Yeah, it's my first time I get to be featured," she replied. "I'm really excited. And terrified. I'm worried people won't like these."  
Dean had gotten a decent look at each of them as he was picking them up. " _I_ like them."  
Lydia glanced back at him with a smile. "Glad _someone_ does."  
They reached one of the doors to building F soon after, and Lydia managed to nudge the door open with her shoe and hold it open so Deam could go inside first.  
After taking the elevator up to the second floor, they entered the gallery space where the other presenters for the show were setting up their works.  
"Thank you again for the help," she said, carefully resting the paintings against her designated section of wall. Dean set the rest down with them.  
"You said you had more, right?" He asked.  
"I can handle the rest, they're smaller," she nodded, unzipping her jacket a bit to cool down. The constant moving around and worrying of that day were making her uncomfortably warm. "Also I don't think we've _met_ met before. I'm Lydia."  
A spark of recognition on Dean's face. _Hank's Lydia?_ "I'm Dean," he replied. "I hear about you from Jared sometimes."  
"He mentions you a lot too," she replied, working on arranging her paintings so they wouldn't fall over. "Mostly how you wanna get more into the arts and get out of science. Are you gonna come to the show tonight?" Would it be a huge conflict if he and Hank were both there after the Sirena thing?  
"I would but I'm signed up for some night classes," he said. He _was_ enrolled in them, but they weren't tonight. Hank talked about Lydia all of the time- including mentioning that he was going to her presentation. Better for Dean to just not be there. Avoiding the whole awkward situation.  
"Ugh, _night_ classes," she shuddered at the concept. "I applaud your motivation. I'd rather be at work at night. I work at my cousins tattoo place. Most clients come in the evening, so it means more tips."  
"I bet," Dean smiled. He could see why Hank liked her. She was easy to talk to and seemed pretty nice. "I gotta get going. I have to finish some reading for later."  
"Alrighty," she sighed, standing up straight to ease her sore back. "Thanks again for the help. Good luck with your reading!"  
  
It was driving Sirena crazy to be stuck at home so much lately.  
Every day it was go to class, then immediately come home. She'd even dropped out of Professor Von Helping's class because she wanted to avoid even Dean. Of course she didn't tell her dad about any of it. Sometimes she needed to be somewhere else for a while. So she'd tell Rocco and her dad that she was going to the night class, but blew it off to sit in the cafe until it closed.  
Tonight the cafe closed early because the bottom two floors of the building were hosting an art show.  
It was cold out and she didn't want to go home yet. Fuck it.  
  
Inside, Lydia was pacing in front of her paintings. Heels clicking against the tiled floor with each step. She hated those shoes. Always gave her blisters. But they were some of her only dress shoes. And speaking of dresses, she loved the one she was in and all; but the silhouette didn't make it easy to take long strides. Walking felt awkward and she had to take it slowly.  
So, pacing with her uncomfortable shoes and short little strides, Lydia spun the faux pearls on her bracelet to put herself more at ease.  
"Jeez. Why do you look like someone's got a gun to your head?"  
Lydia looked up to see her sister Marya's bright orange hair sharply contrasting with a black dress. Beside her was Emilio, wearing a light pink dress shirt and navy blazer with pants to match.  
"You guys came!" Lydia beamed, relieved to see her siblings and pulling them both into a hug. "I thought you were busy tonight!"  
"It's your first feature," Marya said. "We know how nervous you get having to be in front of people."  
Lydia gave them a crooked, self-loathing smile. "Watch me forget how to speak the moment someone asks me about a piece."  
Emilio looked past Lydia. "Speaking of peace, this isn't gonna be some retro performance art crap we're supposed to find meaning in, right?"  
Lydia frowned. "I don't think so- why?"  
"'Cause I'm pretty sure the guy from Miami Vice just walked in."  
Lydia turned to see what he was talking about and winced when she saw Hank wandering the gallery in a white jacket and pants with a baby blue v-neck. Oblivious to people staring at him in passing. "Oh god."  
Hank approached after he spotted her. Which wasn't especially easy in a room where there were a lot of people with eccentric hair colors. "Whoa, did you paint all of these!?" He beamed, looking past her at her artwork. The realism on some of them was _insane.  
_ "Yeah, but like… what are you _wearing?_ " She asked.  
He shrugged. "Semi-formal, right?"  
Marya snickered. "... I hear Vice City's nice this time of year-"  
Lydia elbowed her sister in the side when she laughed. Not that Marya was making fun of Hank, she was just charmed by his quirks.  
"Coooome on," Emilio led Marya away by her arm. "I hear there's dollar glasses of wine by the nude paintings."  
"You look really nice." Hank said when the older Vasquez siblings left. Lydia had straightened her hair for the event. The green contrasted sharply against her black dress.  
"Thank you." She kept her eyes down. She felt like people were staring at them. "You look good too. But I'm pretty sure people think you're part of the exhibit."  
"What makes you say that?" Hank frowned.  
Lydia said nothing, only motioned to the artist whose work was next to hers. All neon colored nostalgia pieces from the '80's. Particularly the aesthetic of _Miami_ in the '80's.  
" _Ohhhh."_   
"I'm just glad you could make it," she told him. "I ran into your brother earlier, by the way. He helped me carry all this crap over."  
That was a little unsettling for Hank. Even though he'd forgiven his brother for insinuating himself into one relationship, now there was the permanent, persistent voice in the back of Hank's head that asked _'Is it going to happen again? Is it going to happen_ _every time_ _with_ _every girl_ _?'_  
"-another thing they're doing tonight is a silent auction," Lydia continued while Hank was lost in thought. "If I can sell these pieces for a decent price, it's going toward my tuition. 'Cause this university is expensive as hell."  
"How do you afford to be here _now?_ " Hank asked.  
"Long story short, high school principal hit on me when I turned eighteen and I blackmailed his dumb ass for valedictorian _and_ a handwritten recommendation letter _and_ a scholarship.."  
"That's messed up. Not the blackmail part, the hitting on you part.."  
" _Nobody_ gets to be creepy to me for free," she replied in a flat tone. She had turned her principal in to the rest of the school administration anyway. It was _the principal_ of the matter, so to speak. "I just need to sell these. Then I can afford more materials for better work and sell those for tuition too."  
The never ending cycle of college payments was yet another reason why Hank didn't want to ever enroll. And Lydia didn't have a rich grandpa to pay for it… That he knew about, anyway. Safe to assume she didn't.  
"Where's the auction at?" He asked. "I saw a sculpture on the way in that would look _super cool_ in my room."  
"First floor, I think," Lydia shrugged. “I hope you win.”   
  
"You think any of these are gonna sell?"  
"Lyds, they're great. They're gonna sell," Emilio, on his second glass of wine, had opted to hang out with Lydia while Hank left to find a bathroom.  
"How much would you estimate for?"  
Emilio looked over her largest painting. A 3x5 of the blurred New York skyline. "Couple hundred?"  
"I'd be lucky to get ten bucks."  
"C'mon, you can do better than that!" Marya wandered over, happily buzzed after downing six glasses of wine one after another. "Thousand!"  
Lydia giggled at her sister's drunken optimism, expression dropping when she spotted a familiar face out of the corner of her eye.  
Sirena Ong, who had recognized Lydia solely by her hair color, had wandered into the show without expecting to see Lydia there.  
Lydia wasn't sure what to make of her appearance, and offered only an awkward, begrudging half-smile and half-wave. Sirena reciprocated with the same energy before they broke eye contact and she continued on wandering. Not dressed for the event. She must've just been there to kill time or something.  
Emilio had noticed the exchange. "Sirena's here?"  
"She's either avoiding her dad or looking for Hank."  
"Why would she look for him?"  
"They used to go out."  
"Are you ever gonna talk to her again or are you gonna spend forever just resenting her?"  
Lydia shrugged. "I'm pretty happy with the resentment."  
"Well you should talk to her about the fact that you're hanging out with Hank. So if they decide to go out again, there's no drama in her finding out you're in the picture."  
"... I think I'd rather be hit in the face with a brick."  
  
Seeing Lydia there was an unwanted surprise. Sirena felt like she couldn't have peace _anywhere_ in the world. She was just surrounded by people who either controlled her, clung to her, or despised her. What a shitty life to live.  
If she could just _go_ somewhere…  
"Sirena?"  
She felt worse in an instant. Turning to see Hank behind her- dressed like Sonny fucking Crockett for some reason. Though that part didn't surprise her. Hank had no idea what clothing was appropriate for any occasion.   
"Hi, Hank. Didn't know you were here," she told him. "Is Dean part of the show?"  
"My _friend_ is," he said slowly. Not quite wanting to say he was there with Lydia. Sirena could get the wrong impression that the were together. "Why are _you_ here? I thought you had class tonight?"  
He knew her schedule still. Always set on spending her free time with her  "I dropped out," she admitted. "Just wanted some time to study."  
Fuck this was painful. Just trying to be friends was hard when all she wanted was to be completely alone.  
"Are you sticking around for a while?"  
"I dunno," Sirena frowned. As much as she didn't want to stay, she wasn't ready to go home to be under heavy watch. As usual. "I guess."  
_"The winners of tonight's auction will be announced in the gallery in five minutes."  
_ A PA system in the building announced overhead.   
"I'm gonna go back upstairs," Hank said. "I'll text you?" Would she even answer if he did?  
"Okay," Sirena nodded, already wondering if she could make an excuse not to answer the messages. How was he ever gonna move on if he was so set on getting back together?  
  
Upstairs, Lydia's pacing had resumed. Her brother’s assurance fell on deaf ears now that the pressure was on to actually make some money. Especially now that announcements were like halfway through. She was at the very end of the list of artists. Stupid name starting with a V!  
“You’re gonna make something, I know it,” Emilio said.  
“ _Do_ you know it, though?” She felt burned out already. The uncomfortable shoes only made matters feel worse. One by one, the other artists applauded each other’s earnings. One painting sold for five hundred. A sculpture for a thousand. Lydia had seen both of those pieces before the show during setup- and they were _good._   
“I’m back!” Hank beamed as he approached.  
“Hey,” Lydia said a little breathlessly. Already jonesing for a cigarette with how this stressed her out-- why did she do this show again? “Did you get lost, or…?”  
_“-tonight’s big winner,”_ the PA read, _“Let’s all say congratulations to Mr. Enrico Matassa’s winning bid of $10,000 for piece #V-007 by artist L. Vasquez.”_ _  
_ Lydia felt like her heart had stopped. Emilio and Marya both froze at the mention of their sister’s name.  
Emilio gaped. “T-Ten _thousand…?_ ”  
“Holy _shhhhhit_ ,” Marya agreed.  
The older two Vasquez siblings and Hank looked to Lydia.  
“I think I need to sit down,” she murmured, lowering herself to the floor to process-- and then almost immediately jumping up to her feet, throwing her hands in the air with an elated “YEEEEESSSSS!!!!!” that echoed throughout the gallery.

**Author's Note:**

> Please👏leave👏feedback👏if👏you👏enjoyed👏  
> Thank you ❤


End file.
